Rexanne Becnel (29 page)

Her heart began to race at the idea of such intimate proximity to him, and though she forced herself to count all the various ways she might seek her revenge while he slept, she couldn’t quite erase the one perverse thought that dominated all the others: they would be alone together. All night. Every night.

In desperation she began to pray. “Oh, my God, I am heartily sorry, for I have sinned—”

“You? Sinned? What could you possibly have done that would be considered a sin?” Tanner asked.

Abby hadn’t been aware she’d said the words out loud, so Tanner’s question caught her a little off guard. “Mind your own business,” she muttered ungraciously.

Maybe that was good advice, Tanner decided as she bent her head to resume her prayers, albeit silently this time. But he knew already that it would be damned hard advice for him to take.

She was just a job for him, just a nice fat reward for a relatively easy delivery. Or at least she should be.

He guided Mac effortlessly while his mind stayed focused on the woman that rode before him. The dark glints in her long hair. The faint smell of her—sweaty, sweet. Womanly. The firm press of her nicely rounded bottom against his crotch. How in the hell was a man supposed to think straight with such a ripe young body pressed this close to him?

But he feared it was more than her very appealing female form. Abigail Bliss was an unexpected mixture of purity and passion. Though she fought that passion—even now her prayers were probably directed toward keeping that passion in check—it was there and was made all the more tempting by the innocence that veiled it.

It would take very little to push past that veil.

She moved slightly, probably to find a more comfortable position. But Tanner’s thoughts made her movement pure torture for him. “Sit still, dammit,” he growled in a barely controlled voice.

She froze in a hunched-forward position, probably as uncomfortable as hell, he suspected. But though he regretted his temper, he didn’t know what else to do. She was there; he wanted her; and damn her, she wanted him too. With one kiss, one caress, he could ignite the simmering fire that burned inside her. They could lose themselves in the flames of desire, and maybe, just maybe, he could get his wayward feelings back under control.

But then what?

The wind blew a single lock of her hair across his cheek, and it was almost his undoing.

“Get your hair out of my face,” he bit out, though he cursed himself for the unfeeling way it came out. It was better this way, he told himself as she tucked the windblown curl back in with the others. Let her hate him. Let her think she was only a reward to him, that their few kisses had meant nothing to him.

After all, it was true. She meant nothing to him because nothing could come of it. Even if she could be his kind of woman, he was not her kind of man. They’d been born of different worlds, and they were headed in different directions.

Willard Hogan would be the first to remind him of that fact.

C
RACKER O’HARA SQUINTED, TRYING
to see the two of them. They had camped beside a narrow creek, under a high, clear sky. The creek was little more than a swale, collecting rainwater from the surrounding low hills. In drier weather it would simply be a bed of sandy ground winding through the rolling terrain. But it was flowing now, and it was deep enough to drown a woman in.

McKnight had forgone a fire.
Still cautious,
Cracker smirked. But his caution had all been pointless, because Cracker had known who he was all along. Who he was, what he was up to, and now where he was headed with the girl. McKnight had done the hard part for him, tracking her down. The easy part would be killing them both.

At the moment, they were sitting down, hidden from view in the tall prairie grass. But they were there all right, and once they fell asleep, he and Bud would make swift work of them.

“I ain’t killin’ no kid,” Bud Foley had said. It was the same puling song he’d been singing all day, and Cracker ignored it. The man was as soft as McKnight—a fact Cracker intended to use to good advantage.

They would have to wait until the pair below were well asleep. From his perch downwind Cracker could see the two horses quietly grazing, two dark silhouettes against an already dark landscape. A sliver of moon cast just enough light to see by, yet not enough to be sure of what you saw—unless of course you were focused on your quarry. And Cracker was completely focused.

“Make sure he’s dead this time,” he ordered Bud when they finally began their descent toward the sleeping pair.

“I guess I know what I’m doin’,” Bud snapped back.

Cracker only smiled to himself.
Maybe. Maybe not.

Abby lay on a doubled-over blanket with her shawl clutched over her like a shield. Tanner lay but five feet away from her, and she knew he was not asleep.

They’d passed a long, silent afternoon, sticking to the lowest land, meandering between the gentle swells of the endless prairie west. At one point they’d followed a narrow streambed for an hour to hide their tracks, though he still seemed edgy and watchful. Given how flat and open this part of the Nebraska Territory was, it seemed futile to hide, yet Abby was nonetheless impressed with his precautions.

Still she’d not spoken a word to him—at least not willingly. She’d responded to his curt orders with equally curt replies. Now, however, as they lay so near each other beneath a spectacularly brilliant display of starlight, it seemed awkward for them not to speak. But she absolutely refused to initiate such a discourse. And so she lay there, her mind filled with too many thoughts to keep straight: her abandoned past, her uncertain future. Her unsettling present.

When he finally did speak, she nearly jumped in alarm.

“Get over here.”

The lively silence of the vast plains roared like a storm in her ears. “No.”

She heard him moving—the dry rustle of the tall grasses, a disgusted sigh as he sat up.

“I’m trying to protect you, not hurt you. Now, come over here, Abby.”

Abby swallowed hard and clasped her poor shawl all the tighter. She’d feared all along that he would tie her up so that she couldn’t escape while he slept. When he hadn’t, she’d been relieved almost to the point of gratitude. Now, however, it appeared he’d reconsidered.

“Why should I come over there? And why should I believe even one word out of your deceitful mouth?”

“Because I want to keep you safe. Because I’m good at what I do—”

“And proud of it too,” she angrily interrupted him. “You’re quite the expert at kidnapping unwilling women, and proud of your talent.”

Even through the darkness she felt the heat of his gaze on her. “Perhaps you’d care to define the term
unwilling women,
” he drawled. “Or in this case,
unwilling woman.
I haven’t noticed that you’ve been particularly unwilling with me up to now.”

The husky intimation in his voice sent a hot shiver through her. But it was followed just as quickly by denial. She’d not been all
that
willing then, at least not in the way he was implying. And she certainly wasn’t willing now. Without stopping to consider her action, she threw her battered ankle boot at him. It was a wild throw, missing him by a mile, and that fueled her outrage even further.

“You arrogant bastard,” she accused, her voice rising in volume as she sat up. “If I gave any indication that I was … that I was kindly disposed toward you, it was only because I was unaware that any man could be so completely lacking in moral fiber as you are!”

Almost before she had the words out, he was at her side and had grabbed her by both arms. “Keep quiet, dammit! Sound carries out here—”

“I don’t care—”

“Well, you’d damned well better care. I told you before, I won’t have the least bit of mercy on anyone who comes after you.”

Her heart sank at his reminder, but still she could not let the matter drop. “So you admit I do need rescuing!”

His hands tightened on her upper arms, making Abby distressingly aware of their intimate position. She knelt on her paltry bed while he crouched in front of her, holding her still before him. They were but inches apart. If either of them was to lean the least bit forward …

Abby immediately made herself lean back, as far as his implacable grip allowed. Yet still she was much too near him for comfort. It was true, she knew. All of it was true. She was willing where he was concerned, no matter how hard she struggled not to be. But she would hide it from him if it killed her.

She heard his harsh breathing, as if he were as angry as she. But what did
he
have to be angry about?

“Perhaps, Abby, you’d be better off considering that your grandfather—and by extension myself—is rescuing you from a dangerous trek you no longer have any reason to make.”

“I could have made it,” she contended.

She felt his shrug. “Probably. But what’s the point of struggling for years when your grandfather can lay the world at your feet?”

“He can’t give me back my parents,” Abby accused in a bitter tone.

“No.”

“If he hadn’t hounded my father …” She trailed off as misery overwhelmed her.

“Your father didn’t have to head west,” Tanner said more quietly, his voice low and soothing. “He could just have told you the truth and let you make up your own mind about your grandfather.”

Abby winced inside. She’d thought as much herself. Her father could simply have trusted her with the truth. He could have treated her as an adult instead of a child that needed to be protected from unpleasantness. But to agree with Tanner seemed too disloyal to her father, who had, after all, only meant the best for her.

“How easy it is for you to criticize my father. He at least acted out of concern for me. While you …” She trailed off contemptuously. “And anyway, now that I know the truth, why don’t you and my grandfather trust me to make up my mind about him, as you put it?”

“That’s exactly what we’re doing. You can’t make up your mind about him until you meet him.”

Abby didn’t want to admit it, but there was an unwelcome truth in his words. Still, if her mother had rejected the man …

“Come over here by me. But leave your bedroll. And don’t stand up.”

Abby glared at the dark shadow of him, seeing only his movements and the flash of his teeth when he spoke. “I am tired unto death,” she snapped. “Isn’t it enough—”

He cut her off by grabbing her hand and nearly toppling her over with a sharp tug. “Just shut up and crawl,” he ordered tersely.

He was absolutely the most contrary and difficult man in all of God’s creation. But he was bigger and stronger, and in the end Abby crawled as he directed. Her skirt hampered her every move. Her palms became grimy and her hair hung down in her eyes.

But then what difference did that make, she wondered with ironic humor. She’d been dirty since the beginning of her westward trek; her hands had become so tough and callused that a few rocks and twigs were nothing at all. As for her hair in her face, it was dark and she couldn’t see anyway. She was reminded of mice creeping through the grass, of Tillie and Snitch. If she hadn’t been so tired and so furious with Tanner, she might have laughed at how ludicrous the whole situation was.

They stopped some distance from where their bedrolls lay, almost to where the horses grazed. Tanner bid her stop with a hand on her shoulder, then, to her surprise, pressed one finger to her lips, signaling her to silence.

Much as she needed to contradict every order he gave her, there was an odd tension about him that prevented her. They sat that way a long while, with only the night sighs of the wind in the tall grass to break the huge silence. Then he drew his long-bladed knife from its sheath and released the guard on his side gun. Abby shrank back into a frightened huddle, just watching him with wide eyes and a sinking heart.

Someone must be coming. She hadn’t heard anything odd. The horses hadn’t even looked up—at least not that she recalled. But something had alerted Tanner.

He gave her a hard warning look. It was difficult to make out in the darkness, but she felt it anyway. Be still and maybe they’ll go away. Keep quiet and maybe no one will get hurt.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever. The moon inched its way across the velvet-black sky, a cold, silent witness to the activities going on so far below. That same moon shone over the wagon company. It shone as well over her old home and her grandfather in Chicago. It shone down on her parents’ graves.

Then, as weariness slowly over took her anger and tension, she heard it.

Just a shiver of sound on the wind. A rustle that could have been a rabbit or a mouse. Or a snake. She drew her feet closer to her body, remembering her previous run-in with those rattlesnakes. But a sharp shake of Tanner’s head warned her to be still. She stared at him, sensing that he was gathering himself, getting ready to react. And she knew then that the sound was of people approaching. Her rescuers stumbling into Tanner’s trap.

“Don’t,” she breathed the word, pleading with her eyes for him to relent.

He only frowned and removed his hat, preparing to strike. But Abby persisted.

“I’ll tell them you’re not taking me against my will,” she promised in a whisper, though she nearly choked on the words. “I’ll tell them I
want
you to take me to Chicago.”

That caught his attention, for his brows arched up in surprise, then lowered again as he studied her.

But before he could respond, all hell seemed to break loose. A triumphant whoop, the crashing sound of bodies through the grass, and two barks of gunfire.

Abby’s heart thundered in horror. Tulip and Mac shied away, snorting and kicking, though their hobbles prevented them from moving too quickly.

“Shit! They ain’t here!” someone yelled in the blackness.

“Shut up and find ’em!” came an angry retort.

One of the voices sounded familiar, though Abby couldn’t quite place it. Someone from the wagon company, no doubt. But why the gunshots? Did they mean to kill Tanner?

A new fear joined all her others. She didn’t want Tanner to hurt anyone on her account, but neither did she want to see him hurt.